Escape
by iamthedreadpirateroberts
Summary: Title sucks. Harry tries to commit suicide and hides to keep from being discovered. It didn't work, because a certain unexpected fellow saves his hide and offers him a chance to escape, in return for something that certain fellow wants. MAY TURN SLASH
1. Skin

**Escape**

**_Skin_**

_This is someone else's story,  
Someone that I never knew.  
This is someone else's body.  
Am I getting through to you? _

Harry stumbled blindly down, down, down. Further down into the pits of his misery, the pits of hell. Why did it have to be him? Why did that bastard have to go and kill his parents? Why? Why? Why? He didn't know how to do anything. He didn't know what to do. Why was he expected to do something that so many other failed to do? For God's sake, he was only a fifteen year old boy! He should have been a normal wizard, a normal teenager. He was just a normal kid! Not some miracle worker that everybody believed he was! Hot, salty tears rippled down his pale face, dripping from his cheeks onto the cold stone floor below him.

_If you peel away the armor is something underneath?  
If you look below for hidden treasure underneath another layer?  
Are you hiding underneath the skin? _

Harry shivered. The air was so, so cold. Just like everyone. Everyone was so cold. Did they even realize that he was a child? That he wasn't anywhere near as old or as wise or as powerful as all the others that went up against the Dark lord and were murdered? Didn't they know that he wasn't his parents?! He could feel his hot tears running down his freezing face, growing cold as they traveled down his miserable cheeks.

_If you peel away the skin is there anybody there?  
If you peel away the skin is there anybody there?  
If you peel away the armor is it too late to begin?  
Is there anybody hiding if you peel away the skin? _

The stone walls seemed to close in on him, as if they were collapsing. Just like everyone. Dumbledore, the Order, the Hogwarts staff, the Weasleys, Hermione, Ron, his friends, the other students, countless other wizards he had never met. Snape. God, were they right? Was he just a shell? A robot, programemd to kill the Dark Lord? How did they expect him to do something so insanely sucidal if he wasn't under somebody's strict control? Harry dropped to the floor, moaning softly as his head collided with stone. Falling, falling. If he didn't move, he'd be squished between the pressing walls and the floor. But there would not be anyone else. No one else.

_Now a spark has passed between us now,  
A momentary recognition.  
Something lost and something gained.  
And something shared that feels strange,  
Something cold that will not go away.  
There's a heart as cold as ice  
In a vault that's made of stone.  
Over years the walls got higher,  
Over years the walls have grown. _

Harry's shallow breathing echoed through the harsh stone walls, the warm breath making little clouds in front of his nose. Slow, controlled footsteps pattered down the hall, closer, closer. Speeding up, moving faster and faster, but still carefully controlled. Oh God, I don't want to go back! Dont want to be manipulated. Don't want to be hurt . . . And then the steps stopped. Blinking a few times, Harry saw a dark clad figure looming towards him, a simple, strange, genuine look of concern written all over his face. Harry squeezed his eyes shut as he was carefully picked up, saved from the collapsing walls, from the constant pressure of the world, saved from himself. **"Don't take me back, please,"** he whispered haltingly, **"I don't want to be- don't want to be hurt again. Please," **he begged. To his surprise, he was set down again, but sitting upright this time. "I won't take you back," the silky voice promised. He'd never heard that tone before. It was odd, but nice. **"But I can't just let you bleed to death like that." **Damn, he'd noticed. Then again, it wasn't too hard. Harry was bleedingly like a stuck pig. **"Suicide is the coward's way out, and I had thought you were a Gryffindor." **The voice sounded amused, another tone Harry did not recognized, but liked. And then he doubled over in sudden agony. A firm hand kept him from screaming outright. Harry's vision was coming back. "Now that you aren't going to die and get me killed," the hand hoisted him to his shaky, unstable feet. He could see clearly now. His savior helped him stagger down the hall, twisting and turning and going further and further down. But he wasn't going back. Not ever.

_Is there anybody in there in this self inflicted tomb?  
If you peel away the layers is there someone in this room?  
If you peel away the skin, if you peel away the skin? _

Harry, after slightly getting over the sudden and unexpected exhilarition of the knowledge he wasn't going to return to the horrible pressure of the wizarding world, glanced up at the tall, dark man half-dragging him down the dungeons, because his feet still wouldn't work properly. His bright green eyes widened in shock. **"Snape?"** The potions master looked at him. **"I was wondering when you'd figure it out." **Harry was thoroghly confused, but hung onto his every word, like he never did during classes. "And I bet you're asking why. Well, you've probebly been asking that." Snape sighed, and stopped. **"Sucicide. No garuntee if it would work, but by the time I was your age, I was more than willing to try for it. And in fact, I did exactly the same thing you did. I slit open my forearms and hoped to God that no one would find me here, down in these dungeons. However, unlucky as I am, Albus found me."** A sour look crossed is face, mixed with pain. **"He was all dressed up in,"** as he continued, his face grew more and more contorted,** "fishnets, corset, everything." **Snape shuddered and leaned against a wall.** "And then, then he started dancing. To one of my favorite movies, in fact."** A grim smile crossed his face then, and he glanced down at Harry. **"Can't stand it anymore, because of that bastard. Anyway, as soon as he stopped singing, dear God, don't ever let him sing, soon as he shut up, he healed my arm the same way I did yours and said 'Ever try that again, boy, and it'll be the whole movie!' I never did commit suicide again. Well, not like that anyway. Been hoping one side or the other would kill me off for some reason or another. Damned old men keep saving my ass."** He'd started walking again, and harry finally found his feet, but lost his voice in the process. Snape had tried to kill himself? Why? Suddenly, Harry found, he didn't hate Snape. He didn't like him either, more like he was just curious about the man. What cause him to commit sucicide?

_This is someone else's story,  
Someone that I never knew.  
This is someone else's body.  
Am I getting through to you? _

Harry sighed, content, sitting in a soft, high back chair, sipping a cup of hot chocolate beisde a warm fire. The walls were painted a soft maroon, with creme borders. One wall was made of a large cherry wood bookshelf, stocked full of books both muggle and wizarding, all very interesting looking. Another was a similar book shelf, only smaller, and it had rows of various potions. He could have sworn one of them was a Felix Felicious. The crackling fire beside him felt good on his face, made him feel rather sleepy. Or had Snape spiked his drink? No matter, it asted good anyway, and Snape did just prevent Harry frmo dying, so why would he kill him now? He took another drink. **"Harry," **he glanced up at his name, at Snape sitting across from him. **"We need to dicuss where you are going, fairly quickly. Albus will be gone until tomarrow afternoon, so you need to be gone well before then, in case he comes back early."** He was going to help him escape!** "We'll also need to work on your appearence. Just a little tweaking." **Tweaking? Uh oh. Harry didn't like the sound of that. Obviously Snape caught his nervousness, judging from what he said next.** "Make-up, Harry. The stuff girls and actors wear." **He was obviously amused, and the corners of his thin, pale lips kept twitching, as if desperate to break into a grin, but too controlled to do so. **"Not only that, but I've taught you for about five years now. You're a blundering idiot, and this year just further proved that." **Harry winced at the mention of Sirius's death. He didn't want to go into that again. Snape's harsh tone softened, **"You'll need someone who knows how to get around muggles and wizards alike, if you're going to leave." **The man was hinting at something, although Harry couldn't figure out what for the life of him. Snape, exasperated, sighed again.** "I'm going to get blamed for your disappearence, just like I always do when things go wrong. I'm going with you."**


	2. My Life

**Escape**

**_My Life_**

_I would really like to know you better,  
But sometimes I'm afraid that it's not meant to be.  
I would like to believe in something higher,  
But I can't get a grip on all the little things._

As Harry attempted to process the information, Snape slammed the palm of his hand into his forehead. **"I'll put this simply. I'm going with you, or you're not going at all. Does **_**that**_** make it clearer?" **Harry suddenly nodded. He knew a threat when he heard one, and this was much closer to the Snape Harry knew and hated. Besides, he was curious. But curiosity killed the cat. Maybe it wasn't such as good idea to go digging deeper into Snape's past. Then again, it would explain a good deal, even why he told Voldemort the prophesy in the first place. But, he wasn't leaving if he didn't agree to stick with Snape, so . . . **"Alright, then," **he said, **"It was just odd, hearing you say that. It wasn't anything like what I've heard you say before." **In fact, ever since Snape caught him dying in the dungeons, he'd been nice to him. Which was odd. The more he thought about it, the stranger it seemed. How had Snape found him? Why did Snape save him? Wait, Snape had already answered that. But was there more to it? Harry snuggled further into the chair, black of course, and took another sip of his hot chocolate. **"It's . . . complicated. Nothing you need to know about anyway." **Snape was deliberately avoiding the unasked question, and from experience with other people, Harry knew that Snape would not talk, so he let the matter drop until another time.

_When the night comes I cannot sit still you see.  
And the years they have not been so kind to me.  
Got a gallery of figures standing all in a row,  
And every single figure has a soul of its own.  
But I never look back,  
Never look back.  
Don't turn your back on me._

Snape sighed, **"Listen, Harry. Things have got to change. You know this. Your death won't change anything. Too much anyway. But, the loss of both sides' best and only spy will be a terrible detriment."** He sighed again, and stood. Pacing back and forth, he said, almost to himself, **"Nobody, and I do mean nobody, can do what I have been doing all my life because they haven't lived like me." **Suddenly, he stopped and swirled around to face the young black haired boy sitting in the chair behind him. **"Tell me, do you know why it is that occasionally multiple children from the same family have amazing acting abilities, that are bred for acting by their parents?"** A confused shake of the head from Harry and Snape was back to his rant. **"Because of what acting really is. It's putting on a mask and pretending to be someone totally different. The only people who want to do that don't like themselves. But, since it's a very low chance that two or more kids from the same household hate themselves, there's a high chance that they were abused. A **_**very**_** high chance." **There it was again, all that hinting and beating around the bush. Snape let out another exasperated sigh, shaking his head as if upset. "If you're really as thick as you make yourself out to be, harry, I'm not going to spell it out for you." Harry sighed, rather upset himself that Snape wasn't telling him what he meant. There had to be some kind of connection between Snape, acting, and those hypothetical kids he kept referring to.

_(Hey yeah) My life has come unraveled again  
Like so many threads  
(Hey yeah) my life has begun unfolding  
In so many pieces  
(Hey yeah) my life has come unraveled again like  
so many threads in the wind - drift away - drift away _

Harry took a gulp of his hot chocolate that really should have gone cold by now, but was still as hot as when he was first handed it, although the cup was cool. Was it another trick of Snape's? Dear Lord, what all _did_ that man put in his drink? **"So you're coming with me, and we're going to some random muggle place. What about, er, tweaking my appearance?"** In all actuality, Harry did not want to 'tweak' his appearance in the slightest, but he wouldn't mind losing his scar. That was rather awkward. Snape moved swiftly over to a small desk and unlocked a drawer that Harry hadn't noticed before. What did it contain? **"**_**Our**_** appearances, Harry. We're both rather recognizable people, if the right people are looking for us." **When he turned, Snape had a pair of lethal looking scissors in one hand, and a bottle of peach stuff he'd once seen Hermione putting on. Harry's left hand flew from his blue cup to his mid-neck length messy black hair defensively. Even though it was such a hassle, he loved his hair very much and would cry if somebody cut it.

_There's a time and a place  
For understanding  
And a time when action speaks louder than words  
And I don't seem to get no indications  
And I don't know how to get through to you  
And when time like the pyramids  
Has worn away  
All the mountains and the valleys  
Of the words that we say _

Only five minutes later, Harry looked as if he'd never had any scar at all, and Snape looked as if he'd actually seen the sun and spent time outside. A real shocker. **"And that, Harry, is the wonder of muggle cosmetics." **Cautiously, Harry reached up and touched his blank forehead. It looked just like any other forehead. Nondescript. **"So long as you don't go rubbing at it, it'll be fine." **Snape sounded rather distracted, and he looked up to find that the older man wasn't there. And then he felt cold blades brush against his scalp. Harry let out a little whimpering noise, because he knew exactly what Snape was doing. He'd probably had not hair by the time he was done. **"Quit your whining! I'm going to have to cut mine too! I might go so far as to bleach it." **Instantly, Harry shut up. Snape with blond hair? It was almost laughable.

_We have got to make sure that something remains  
If we lose each other we've got no one to blame  
So never look back  
Never look back  
Don't turn your back on me _

Two hours after that, Harry glanced into a mirror. His hair looked good, and it was _neat_. Christ, what did he do before he became a potions professor? Cut hair? Apply cosmetics? Stand in as a muggle movie costume and set designer? What else could he do that he didn't know about? Harry's black hair was slicked back, almost like Malfoy's, only without the help of muggle or magical appliances. Just water, a comb, and a skilled hand. A couple of strands of black hair fell across his forehead, right where his scar used to be - was, Harry reminded himself. When he turned around, Harry's jaw nearly dropped to the ground. Snape had dark reddish brown hair, and it was _clean_. He threw an irritated glare at Harry, one that he'd seen Snape use on Slytherin students who would screw up their potions. **"Gawking is an unflattering expression, Harry. I'd appreciate it if you'd stop." **Snape took one long step over to the chair that he'd had Harry sit in while he was fiddling with his hair and picked up those lethal scissors with a grim look on his face. Carefully, with the precision and control that Harry had seen him use with certain complex potions, he nipped and cut almost randomly at his hair. Watching with hidden interest, Harry noted exactly where and how Snape cut his hair, until it was as short and messy as his own had been. When Snape turned to face him, he bore an expression of great dislike on his face. **"My appearance now reminds me of your father's." **The anger in his silky voice was barely suppressed, and Harry had to quickly hide his giggle with a cough and could not look at Snape. **"Believe me, it sucks lemons." **He sighed, stood, and strode over to the young teenager and tapped him lightly on the shoulder before turning to leave. **"No going back, Harry. It's final."**


	3. Run Away The Escape Song

**Escape**

**_Run Away (The Escape Song)_**

_Run away--run away from here  
Run away--run away from here  
Run away all alone--run away from fear  
Run away from sadness--run away from tears  
Run away from home--from the wife & kids  
From the cats & the doggies--run away to forgive  
Run into the light . . .  
_

A harsh hand jabbed him in the stomach, forcing air out of his lungs and making him groan in pain. Harry rolled over, muttering something to the effect of 'five more minutes' and 'lemme sleep just a bit longer'. **"Get up! I told you last night you would have to be up early!" **Harry moaned and sat up, suddenly remembering what had happened last night. It all came back in a rush, in flashes. _Suicide. The dungeons. Snape. Hot chocolate. Make up. Hair cut. Snape again. Nothingness. _**"Alright, alright, I'm up,"** he groaned, swinging his legs over the side of the bed into another pair of legs. **"Watch it," **Snape growled, as he usually did. Or did he? Was it just a mask? Was he really such an asshole? Eh, probably. Harry scooted over, away from where Snape stood, and stood up, rubbing his head. **"You know, if we train it right, it'll stay slicked back."** The muttered remark was barely caught by Harry, however he knew Snape must have been talking to himself, so he forced himself to shut up. He was led back into the room where his hair had been lopped off and styled, and then handed a simple comb.** "You'll need to learn how to do this on your own. I won't always be around to do things for you,"** Snape said cryptically, and proceeded to explain where to comb back, with how much force, and at what angle to do so and having Harry do exactly as he said, occasionally correcting him and showing him what to do. And then the asshole completely screwed up his hair and made him do it all over again. Rinse, lather and repeat until he got it down to perfection without help or prompting.

_Hide away--in the lion's den  
Play with matches--get burned  
Flyin' high--in an aeroplane  
Run away . . .  
In a fast car--on a highway  
Burnin' tracks--towards the sunset  
No turning back--and no regrets  
I'll think of you . . . (if I don't forget)  
Run away from the church--run away from guilt  
Runaway from (your) dream--everything you built  
Run into the light . . . _

Harry slid gratefully into the chair he'd been sitting in the night before when Snape finally let him go. His scalp hurt really bad, but no where near as bad as slitting open his arm had been. **"Where to?"** he asked hopefully. Maybe Snape would keep them in England, maybe they'd stay in a familiar place, maybe he could still attend a wizarding school - **"Texas." **Inwardly, he groaned. **"In America?"** He really hoped it was some city in England, or even Europe. **"Yes, America, you idiot. Where else?" **Harry's head collapsed into his lap unhappily. **"I happen to have contacts there. We'll be welcome enough, if I can gather the right stuff and find the right spells and potions." **As he was talking, his voice dropped to a loud muttering, as if he was thinking aloud. The now brunette rummaged through his various potions, books, spells, and drawers that had previously been unnoticed. Harry, however, was mulling over what all Snape could mean by contacts. The accursed man never said what he meant. **"Ah," **Snape exclaimed, straighting up from one of those mysterious drawers. He sat down across from Harry and pulled over a little coffee table to set between them. He dumped a bunch of papers onto it and carefully put down a couple of flasks filled with strange liquids. **"This stuff here," **he set his finger into the top of one of the flasks, **"will change your accent. The other one,"** his finger moved to the other flask, **"will enhance your learning ability." **Noting Harry's confusion, he added,** "As in, you'll learn more, faster and better." **Harry nodded and looked pointedly at the papers.** "Papers on the SCA.**** The Society for Creative Anachronism. It'll tell you what to do, where to go, what to wear, and so on. Read up." **And then Snape wandered away again, digging through stuff and even leaving the room. Of course, harry did not notice, because he was reading, like he was supposed to.

_Run away from the office, from your old work shoes  
Run away from crime, and the big city blues  
Run away from money, and the jaws of death  
Run away from lawyers, and the government  
Run away from your friends, and your family too  
Run away from yourself, run away from you  
Run away from here . . . _

Harry found himself growing excited while reading about all the stuff that the SCA did. _**Author Interjection **__- I have provided some underlined reading material below. It has been directly taken from the SCA website. It's if you want to look around and read a bit. Who knows, you may even want to get into it. None of the SCA is going to made up in this story, except maybe the people._

The SCA is the Society for Creative Anachronism, which is a group dedicated to researching and recreating the Middle Ages in the present. Many groups meet weekly, and at these meetings we dance, talk, study, learn, revel, and make plans. But first, let's get a little bit of info about the SCA in general.

The avowed purpose of the SCA is the study and recreation of the European Middle Ages, its crafts, sciences, arts, traditions, literature, etc. The SCA "period" is defined to be Western civilization before 1600 AD, concentrating on the Western European High Middle Ages. Under the aegis of the SCA we study dance, calligraphy, martial arts, cooking, metalwork, stained glass, costuming, literature... well, if they did it, somebody in the SCA does it (Except die of the Plague!).

The SCA is a feudal society. A feudal society takes its form from the idea of service and duty. A noble owes duty of service to his lord, who might be a Baron or Knight. In return, his lord owes protection from danger, and food, money, etc., when times are bad. For his own part, the lord owes fealty (the word that encompasses this idea of reciprocal responsibilities) to his own overlord, and so on up the ladder to the King. In return for their service as good stewards of the land and readily available warriors, the King owes Knights, Barons, and other high nobles protection, honor, and a return of money, food, etc., in times of hardship. It is something like the idea of a Pyramid club, but the benefits are greater and the idea of personal honor and mutual responsibility, not profit, tie the structure together (or at least it did in Europe for nearly a thousand years).

Fighting in the SCA evolved from what happened when two armed knights were unhorsed and had to fight on the ground. It resembles nothing so much as medieval foot tournaments. There are two basic types of SCA fights: single combat, and group or team battles, known as melees. SCA fighting does have rules. The first, and most important rule, is that each and every fighter on the field has honor. The fighter keeps faith with his honor by accepting blows that would be killing or wounding (more about this a little later). The second basic principle is like the first; A fighter keeps faith with his brother fighters by acknowledging his opponent's word -- if he says a blow was too light to cause injury, then it was light. Since we prefer that no one get hurt, SCA fighting is done with real armor (made with leather, metal, padding, kydex, etc) and rattan swords.

There are several essential and required pieces of armor -- a helm, and protection for the neck, cervical vertebrae, elbows, knees, kidneys, hands, and groin. In addition, most SCA fighters wear chest, leg, arm and forearm, and foot protection. Before being allowed to participate in combat without close supervision, each fighter is trained by senior fighters, known as "marshals." This training aims at ensuring that the fighter is safe to himself or herself and to others, and typically lasts a few months. As part of this training, the novice fighter is taught how to recognize a "good" blow. 

Every person in the SCA picks a name to use in the Society. It could be something simple and familiar (John of Wardcliff) or something elaborate and exotic (Oisin Dubh mac Lochlainn). Most people pick a time period in the SCA "period" (pre-1600) and a country (any place that can documented and proven to have had trade with western civilization during the period), and choose a name from that. Some SCA members try to create a "persona" which could have lived in some time and place within the scope of the SCA, and fit their garb and activities to that persona; some people try to live at events as if they were their personae. Other folk simply pick a name and go ahead with life if the "Current Middle Ages."

The SCA has an elaborate system of rank, awards, and honors, which are granted to individual members by the royalty in return for various kinds of service to the Society. SCA rank is earned, not inherited: Everyone is presumed to be minor nobility to start, but any noble titles or honors used in the SCA must be earned in the SCA. Many new members (and lots of long-time members!) find the SCA's system of rank to be rather peculiar, in that it differs rather radically from medieval practice. Like many of the SCA's institutions, our system of rank wasn't so much planned as evolved. It seems to serve our needs most of the time, but don't be surprised to hear people discussing how it could be improved. 

One of the most interesting parts of the SCA is "events", our word for the times when we put on our medieval clothing, go out and dance those dances we've been practicing, flirt, eat, talk, and generally have a good time. Events are held almost every weekend of the year somewhere; some weekends there may be as many as a couple dozen events scattered around the SCA. Most groups hold at least one event per year; some larger groups will hold two or more. At events there are often tournaments, art exhibits or competitions, classes on all manner of medieval skills, workshops, and, later in the evening, a medieval feast, Royal or Baronial Court, and dancing. There are many different kinds of events, and the common pattern varies from place to place and season to season. The events are the most fun to most folk, because you get to go and show off all the things you have been learning in the past few months.

Eventually, Harry finished off one packet and was reaching for another when Snape tapped his wrist. Immediately, his eyes shot upwards. **"You need to be fixed up more. And it's already six a.m. This stuff will probably take about six hours to set in."** Harry groaned. _Only_ six a.m.? The man was insane! But he was already being handed a dose of this and a dose of that, and was told to down then in the order he was handed them. **"And then I'll need to spell you a bit. Try not to puke all over the floor - It'll be a pain in my ass to clean up." **Again, Harry moaned, but did as he was told. If this is what he had to do to get out and away from Hogwarts, then he would. There was now turning back now. No regrets.


End file.
